


The Boy With the Steel Eyes

by Sini333



Series: JohnLock One-Shots [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Don't Like Don't Read, John is eighteen, John was a sex slave, M/M, Mentions of Pedophilia, Older Sherlock, Sherlock is thirty, sex trafficking ring, young john - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 21:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13555593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sini333/pseuds/Sini333
Summary: When a woman approaches Sherlock about finding her little brother, who has been missing for fifteen years, Sherlock has his doubts.Until he sees the boy's picture.He's seen those eyes before.





	The Boy With the Steel Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE!!!! There is a significant age difference between Sherlock and John in this fic. HOWEVER... John is eighteen, and the age of consent in England is sixteen. There is also mention of the fact that John was taken at a very young age, and was passed around several sex trafficking rings before Sherlock came along, so if anything like that makes you uncomfortable, then stop reading now. If I decide to extend this fic into a full AU, the tags and warnings will increase but for not this is what I've got for y'all.   
> Hope you like it!! Enjoy<3

"Please Mr. Holmes, just look at the case-" Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes and standing. He made his way over to the window, fighting back a wave of irritation toward the client in his sitting room. "My brother-"

"Your brother went missing fifteen years ago, Ms. Watson, the odds of finding him alive are abysmal."

"I-I'll pay you-" Sherlock laughed, spinning to face the woman as he scanned his eyes over her.

"With what money? Your rent? I'm sure you'd rather spend that on alcohol. What is your poison? Whiskey?" The woman's jaw clenched and she blinked rapidly, standing and collecting her jacket. "Go home, Ms. Watson, give up chasing ghosts."

"My brother is not dead, Mr. Holmes, I know it. Please, look at his case." She left the file on his coffee table before turning and leaving his flat.

He turned back to the window, picking up his violin and playing whatever notes came to his mind.

He played for an hour, trying to ignore the file sitting on the table behind him.

There was no point in looking for the boy, it had been fifteen years since he had been taken. If he wasn't dead, then he was probably trapped in a sex trafficking ring.

Something flickered in the back of Sherlock's mind, making his thoughts spin as he set his violin back on his desk. He grabbed the case, flipping open the cover and finding the picture of the boy. He felt a vice tighten around his chest and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, dialling the now familiar number of the Detective Inspector that had saved his life.

"Lestrade? Is that trafficking case still open?"

"Hello to you too Sherlock. Which case? There are about two hundred open trafficking cases in London-"

"The one you brought me a few months ago." There was silence on the other end as the DI searched for the files.

"Yeah, looks like it. Nothing has turned up yet, why?"

"I think I just found a lead."   
  
  


It took Sherlock nearly a week of searching to find another lead. The ring he was tracking was well-organized and efficient, every time he got close, they would disappear, leaving at least one of the boys to freeze to death in the streets.   
The boy Sherlock was looking for was still underage, so the ring kept him reserved for the highest bidders, making it impossible to find him.

Sherlock began frequenting the darkened alleys at night, hunting for the boy with the steel eyes. He had been three when he went missing, making him almost eighteen now. He had to show up one night, they wouldn't keep him hidden after he reached legal age. 

"You look lost." Sherlock started at the voice that had appeared at his side, cursing himself for getting distracted. He sent a glare at the new-comer, his mind screeching to a stop as his eyes met steel ones. "Something wrong Gorgeous?"

The boy in front of him was shorter, just slightly shorter than average, far too skinny to be strictly healthy, with blond hair that was styled messily. He carried himself with a confidence that spoke to years of abuse and training. His eyes were full of a suspicious mischief that sent a spark of danger through Sherlock's gut.

"J-John?" The boy laughed, pushing off the wall he had been leaning against and stepping closer.

"No need to be so formal Baby, you can call me Johnny, or whatever you damned well please." Sherlock backed away as the boy stepped closer, trying to find a way out of this situation. "What do you want me to call you? Sir? Daddy-"

"Sh-Sherlock," he gasped as he back hit the brick wall at the end of the alley. "My name is Sherlock." At thirty years old, Sherlock was not unfamiliar with sex. During his months living on the streets, he had experienced more rushed sex in darkened alleys than he cared to admit, but this was different. Sherlock was decidedly sober, and the boy was technically a client.

"Hmm, Sherlock, I like that." The boy flashed him a grin, one that made him look much younger than it should have, and leaned in close, not touching, but effectively pinning the detective to the cold brick. "What do you want, Sherlock? Name it and I'll give you a price-"

"Y-Your sister is looking for you." Confusion flashed over the boy's face as he froze, the grin starting to falter on his lips. "Your name is John Watson, you were abducted from your front yard when you were three years old. Your sister, Harriet Watson, has been searching for you for fifteen years-"

"M-My sister? What- what are you talking about? I don't- who the fuck are you?" The boy reeled back, tugging at his hair and breathing irregularly.

"John-"

"Don't- stop calling me that! Who are you?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, I'm a consulting detective-"

"Fuck, you're a copper?" The boy backed away, panic in his eyes. Sherlock reached for him, trying to get the boy to calm down. "F-Fuck- I-I'm dead. H-He's going to kill me-"

"I can protect you-" Sherlock gripped the boy's elbow trying desperately to pull him back into the shadows, away from prying eyes. Pain echoed through his head as a fist connected with his jaw, sending him reeling back.

The boy was gone by the time Sherlock managed to recover. He cursed, spinning and slamming his fist into the wall.

How was he going to tell Harriet Watson that he had lost her little brother?  
  
  


Sherlock slowly made his way out of his Mind Palace at the sound of his phone ringing.

"This is Sherlock."

"John Watson was found last night." Lestrade's voice sounded rough, as though he had been up for several days with little more than coffee and cigarettes to keep him going. Sherlock swung his legs off the sofa, his chest tightening with fear and relief.

"What charges are you holding him on? Can you keep him for another few hours? I am going to get ahold of his sister-"

"He's in the hospital, Sherlock." Dread settled in the pit of his stomach. "A couple officers found him down by the docks around midnight. Looks like he was pumped full of heroin and thrown out of a moving car, same as the others."   
Sherlock covered his mouth with his hand, blinking back tears as he remembered the panic in the boy's face.

_"F-Fuck- I-I'm dead. H-He's going to kill me-"_

"Is he alive?"

"Barely. They're trying to flush the drugs out of his system and get him stabilized, but they're not hopeful. He's in rough shape Sherlock."

"I'm on my way."  
  
  
  


"Ms. Watson?" Sherlock glanced up, pushing himself out of the chair as the doctor approached.

"Ms. Watson left an hour ago. I uh- I'm a-a friend of Mr. Watson's." The doctor sent him a skeptical glare, but glanced at the clipboard in his hands. "Is- is he okay?" The doctor sighed, shaking his head as he scribbled something on the chart.

"Mr. Watson suffered from severe bruising, as well as several fractures and a significant level of internal injuries. We have managed to stabilize him for now, but there is no guarantee that he is going to survive the night. You should be prepared to say your goodbyes." The doctor left, leaving Sherlock standing in the empty hall.

This was his fault. He should have been more careful, taken the boy to some seedy hotel before telling him. He should have made sure that the boy was safe.

Now he was dying in a cold hospital room, and it was all Sherlock's fault.  
  
  


"I told you, I don't know what you want from me." Sherlock rolled his eyes, sending the boy a irritated glare as he settled heavily back against the chair.

John had been awake for two days, and had been fighting Lestrade the whole time. He claimed his name was Jacob Brownstein, and that he had been mugged on his way home.

"My name is-"

"We have proof your name is John Hamish Watson." Lestrade snapped, closing his notebook and crossing his arms, giving the boy a look Sherlock knew all too well. "Just tell us who your pimp is, we can protect you."

"Protect me from what?" Sherlock smirked as the boys eyes widened, feigning fear and innocence better than most children could manage. "Am- Am in danger?"

"You were pumped full of drugs, beaten, and thrown out of a moving car," Sherlock stated, resting his chin on the tips of his steepled fingers, "what does that sound like to you?" The faked emotions faded instantly at the mention of what had happened, leaving behind an emptiness that startled Sherlock. "John-"

"Stop fucking calling me that!" The boy snapped, blinking rapidly and clenching his jaw. "M-My name is Jacob Brownstein, I'm 21 years old, I'm saving money to go to medical school." Lestrade sighed, tucking his notebook away and rubbing a hand through his hair.

"Listen kid, we just want to help, but if you won't cooperate-" John laughed, a strange, empty sound that didn't match the gleeful grin on his face.

"What are you going to do? Arrest me?" John shifted in the bed, his head cocked to the side and an empty smile on his lips. "You have nothing to charge me with, and even if you did, you could never make them stick."

"You are obstructing a police investigation-"

"How? You can't prove that I am anyone other than Jacob Brownstein-"

"We have DNA evidence-"

"I have a passport, government identification, and three years worth of taxes that say my name is Jacob Brownstein. Your 'evidence' isn't worth shit, Detective Inspector." Lestrade growled softly before turning and stalking out of the room.

Sherlock studied the boy as he began fighting with the cuffs that were keeping him pinned to the bed.

"You never answered me." Sherlock blinked at the boy, scrambling to remember what question he had asked. Steel blue eyes met his, pulling a flush along Sherlock's cheeks. "I asked you what you like, you never told me." The flush on Sherlock's cheeks darkened as he remembered their hushed conversation in the alley.

"So you do remember me?" The boy smirked, still picking at the cuffs.

"Hard to forget a face like yours," the boy met his eyes again, looking up from under his eyelashes and licking his bottom lip slightly, "Daddy." Sherlock felt his breath catch in his throat and forced a cough, avoiding the boy's gaze. "Ah, never been the one receiving end of that one, have you?" Sherlock flinched when he felt a weight settle on his shoulder, blinking up at the boy who was now standing over him.

John was wavering slightly, his jaw tight with pain as he winked at Sherlock. The cuffs were off his wrist, sending a shock of alarm through Sherlock's body.

John moved before he could react, cuffing him to the sconce above and stumbling away.

"John-"

"Sorry, but I-I have to do this." The confidence in the boy's eyes was quickly replaced by panic and fear. "If- if he finds me-"

"We can protect you, just tell us who is after you-" the boy shook his head, blinking rapidly as he backed out of the room. He looked terrified, his skin pale and eyes wide.

Something flared in the back of Sherlock's mind, a memory long buried and nearly forgotten.

"The Spider." The boy started shaking, stumbling as his shoulder connected with the doorway. "You worked for The Spider." The boy shook his head, grabbing the door handle and trying to push the door open. "W-Wait- wait!" John hesitated, biting his lip and glancing back out of the room. "Take my coat, you'll freeze if you don't." Sherlock nodded towards the coat that was draped over the chair, sighing in relief as the boy grabbed the coat and hurried from the room.

It took Sherlock less than two minutes to escape the cuffs, the weird angle stalling him longer than usual. As soon as he was free, he sprung to his feet, grabbing his cell phone and dialing a number he hated having in his phone.

"Brother mine, what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Do you still have a tracker in my jacket?" The sigh he got in answer sent a flare of irritation through his mind. "I need you to track it, and tell me where it's going right now."

"Sherlock, I don't have time to help you find your missing coat-"

"The boy who has it is in danger and I need to find him. He needs medical attention and protection-"

"I am sending the coordinates to your phone now."   
  
  
  


"Fuck-" the boy cursed as he peeled at the bandages on his ribs, whimpering as the torn skin caught on the cotton. He dropped his head back against the wall, fighting back a pained sob as his body began shaking violently.

_"Your sister is looking for you."_  The voice of the detective that had nearly gotten him killed echoed through his head.   
They kept calling him John, saying he had a sister that was looking for him, that had been looking for him for fifteen years.

Since he could remember, he had been shoved in various dungeons, chained to the walls so The Spider's clients could have their way with him. It was all he had known, and the thought of someone wanting to change that terrified him. He didn't even have a name, his clients would just call him whatever they pleased, if anything at all.

_"Your name is John Watson, you were abducted from your front yard when you were three years old-"_

"No!" The boy swung his fist, flinching when he heard glass shattering. He stared at his hand, watching the blood run down his wrist, disappearing under the too-big sleeves of the coat.

He lashed out again, breaking another pane of glass with his fists, screaming as he felt the glass tear through his skin.

He felt darkness flood his senses as he lost consciousness, relief filling his mind as he welcomed death.

_"John!"_   
  
  


Sherlock sighed, rubbing his hands over his face and leaning back, shoving the microscope away. He was tired, frustrated, and reaching the end of his rope with this case.

"You look lost." Sherlock started, jumping to his feet and spinning.

The boy standing at the end of the counter smirked at him, a timid confidence in his steel eyes. He looked healthy, still too thin, but healthy. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, a simple black jacket hanging off his shoulders, making him look even smaller than he was.

The last time Sherlock had seen the boy, he was bleeding to death in an abandoned warehouse.

"Something wrong Gorgeous?" Sherlock smirked, buttoning his suit jacket and fussing with his sleeves, a nervous habit he had developed.

"J-John?" Something passed over they boy's face, a hint of sadness in his steel eyes as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I uh- I guess that is my name, isn't it?" The boy blushed, smirking up at Sherlock timidly. He looked so young, the smirk on his lips giving him a child-like appearance. "What should I call you?"

"Sherlock." John grinned, stepping closer and biting his bottom lip.

"Hmm, Sherlock, I like that." John scanned the detective's body, stepping even closer. Something changed in the boy's eyes, an uncertainty filling them as he smiled up at Sherlock. "I uh- I'm not good at this, the whole- you know- properly asking someone out. I'm used to just offering what I have and taking what I got." John's cheeks darkened and he avoided Sherlock's eyes, his stature going from confident to shameful.

Sherlock stepped closer to the boy, reaching up and brushing the hair out of his eyes.

"I'm quite a bit older than you." John smirked, the flirtatious confidence returning to his eyes.

"I like older men."

"I have erratic schedules and sometimes don't sleep for days on end."

"I'm good at filling in the boring bits."

"I enjoy experimentation, in all areas."

"I like the sound of that." Sherlock smirked, stepping back and winking down at the boy before him. John blushed, adjusting his shoulders and licking his lips.

"Dinner?"

"Starving."


End file.
